Bad Feelings
by Ophelia Joane
Summary: We've always known how envious Ron was towards his best friend, Harry Potter, just not much about how it affected him...


_Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition by Beater 1 of the Appleby Arrows._

 _sin: envy_

 _Prompts:_

 _(word) pose_  
 _(quote) 'I have always known who you really are, and that's why I love you.'_  
 _(word) risk_

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

* * *

It felt as if the days were blurring together, he couldn't even pick them apart anymore. Everyday was the same. Everything was the same. _Everyone_ was the same.

He was becoming bored and when he was bored, he became irritable. So irritable that even his loved ones were finding it hard to be around him. He drove his wife away, his children were too scared to even approach him, and even his friends and family stopped reaching out to ask what was wrong.

They didn't get it. Even after all these years, they didn't get it. In fact, the only people who would understand would be those that were friends with celebrities. Celebrities were always the one being bombarded with fame, money, and fans. It took a team of people to make them who they are, but none of those people are ever mentioned or heard of. Just the celebrity.

That's what being best friends with Harry Potter was like.

Ron Weasley had known from birth who Harry Potter was, every magical child in the world knew! He had stood by his side in school during the ups and downs of the-Boy-Who-Lived's life, despite the risk on his own. Even after the Battle of Hogwarts he stood back out of the spotlight, as there was no room for anyone else except the Chosen One. As if he was the one who single-highhandedly fought the entire war. Like no one else had suffered or died. It was just like what had happened after the first war with Voldemort ended. Everyone celebrated and raised their wands to Harry Potter, not knowing only a few years later they would be doing the same exact thing.

But people had died. Enemies, strangers, friends, and family. Would people put that responsibility on Harry as well? No, they wouldn't.

Ron had lived the last fifteen years since the Battle of Hogwarts trying to fix everything Voldemort had ruined. Yet, people still didn't know his name. They didn't see him on the streets and ask for an autograph. They didn't send him fan mail.

All the attention was always on Harry, and had always _been_ on Harry.

And Ron didn't want to be a horrible, jealous person that secretly despised his best friend - his brother. So he had to keep it all inside, and it was killing him, affecting everyone else who loved him. Those who knew that something was wrong, but not what or how to fix it.

In public it was easy for everyone to pose for the camera and pretend nothing was wrong, but in private they ignored the tension that just kept getting stronger and stronger. It became so unbearable that finally Ron's wife tried to kick some sense into him one night as they were eating dinner.

"How was your day, Ronald?" Hermione started off, scooping some peas onto her plate and making sure to avoid eye contact with her husband.

Ron grunted, though she wasn't sure if it was his response or just him eating, so she tried again. "Harry told me that you guys were pursuing some Death Eater wannabes. Said it was a nasty group of teenagers, Durmstrang students." She pushed her peas on her plate around with her fork, glancing at her two children who ate in silence, seemingly not paying any attention to the lack of conversation going on around them.

Ron's fist turned white as he clenched his it around his knife. "Harry already told you this, huh?"

Hermione took his response with a touch of weariness, figuring out her next words. "Yeah, he told me over lunch today." She heard Ron's silverware hit his plate and looked up, puzzled. "What is it?" she asked.

"My wife," Ron muttered too low for her to hear. "He took my damn wife too."

Hermione pursed her lips and looked at her kids. "Time to get ready for bed," she said, and heard no arguments from them as they quickly jumped out of their chairs and ran upstairs.

She got up from her seat and went over to her husband, kneeling next to him and grabbing his hand. "Ronald," she started, "What's been going on with you lately?"

He grunted, but the fact that he didn't jerk his hand away from her gave her some motivation to continue. "No one has wanted to say anything. Truthfully, we figured it had something to do with Malfoy getting that promotion over you at work, but that happened so long ago..." Hermione trailed off and rested her head on their joined hands, looking up at him with her big doe eyes. "What can I do to help you? To fix whatever is going on?"

Ron closed his eyes and let out a long breath. Then he looked at his brilliant, gorgeous wife and kissed her on the forehead. "I don't like that you had lunch with Harry. And I don't want you to do it again, at least not for awhile."

This took the brunette by surprise. "Really?" she asked. "Can I ask why?"

"No," Ron shook his head.

Normally, Hermione wasn't a pushover, and the fact that she wasn't able to get an answer to a question she had really, _really_ bothered her. But she knew when to start a fight and she could pick her battles. "Okay, I won't have lunch with him again. Does that help?"

Ron nodded and this time kissed her on the lips. He pulled back a few seconds later and leaned his forehead against hers. "Thank you," he sighed. "I promise, one day I'll tell you. I just... I can't-"

"It's alright," Hermione smiled softly. "It will all be alright, you'll see."

He kissed her again. "You're amazing. Absolutely, incredibly, bloody amazing. I don't know how I got to be so lucky that you chose me."

Hermione gave him a funny look. "There was no one to ever choose from, it was you and only you. And it always will be you and only you. I have always known who you really are, and that's why I love you."

And with that Ron felt like he had something that was his and only his. Something Harry Potter would never have. Hermione freaking Granger.


End file.
